


Unconquerable Souls

by Skauniz



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Admit it, Awkwardness, Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort/Angst, Cullen being grumpy, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Lyrium Withdrawal, More tags and characters to be added, Random Flashbacks, Slow Burn, because Cullen deserves all the fluff, because we all like to see Cullen suffer a bit, but only because we love him, there will also be fluff, there will be some angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-04 01:53:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5315855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skauniz/pseuds/Skauniz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two warriors - battle hardened them both, but still they lived very different lives.<br/>He never really knew freedom and it left him lonely and distrustful. She fought against all odds for her freedom, and loneliness was the price she gladly paid for it. Now that chance brought them together can they overcome the shackles of their past to find a bit of peace after years of battle?</p><p>---</p><p>I know there are a bunch of Cullen/Inquisitor romance retellings already, but relatively few of them seem to feature a warrior Inquisitor, so here's my take on it.</p><p>The frame of the story will follow the events of DA:I, and there may be some dialogue taken from the game, but for the most part I will be rewriting/replacing the original scenes. And of course there will be new scenes as well.</p><p>Mostly written from Cullen's POV, but there will be other POV's too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wrath of Heaven

 

> Out of the night that covers me,  
>  Black as the pit from pole to pole,  
>  I thank whatever gods may be  
>  For my unconquerable soul.
> 
> In the fell clutch of circumstance  
>  I have not winced nor cried aloud.  
>  Under the bludgeonings of chance  
>  My head is bloody, but unbowed.
> 
> Beyond this place of wrath and tears  
>  Looms but the horror of the shade,  
>  And yet the menace of the years  
>  Finds and shall find me unafraid.
> 
> It matters not how strait the gate,  
>  How charged with punishments the scroll,  
>  I am the master of my fate:  
>  I am the captain of my soul.
> 
>            - _Invictus_ by William Ernest Henley

 

\---

 

"This is going to end badly."

Commander Cullen didn't realize he actually said that out aloud - or, more like it, muttered it loud enough to be heard by the three women around him - until he noticed Seeker Cassandra glaring at him. The stare from her dark, steely eyes made him wish immediately that he hadn't said anything, even though he was sure he only voiced what everyone else in the room was thinking anyway.

Cullen knew how a bad situation looked like, and this one was shaping up to be a very bad one.

"Is there a problem, _Commander_?" Cassandra asked, breaking the short silence that had ensued, her voice calm, but stern. It was phrased like a question, but the way she overemphasized his rank made clear what she really wanted to say.

_There isn't going to be a problem, Commander. You will make sure of that._

Cullen shot her a glance as he bent over the maps hastily spread out on the massive table in front of them. He felt the eyes of everyone else on him. He couldn't blame them. Wasn't this what they had hired him for?

Actually, no. They recruited him to lead an army that was supposed to be bring peace to the conflict between rebel mages and Templars. But now he has been fighting an unrelenting force of demons, falling from the sky with no end in sight. It has been three days and it's already a miracle that they have been able to hold the lines such as it is. But still, this was now his job, his responsibility, his duty, and he would not shirk it.

"No," he replied, pushing himself up from the table with a sigh. "It will cost us a lot of soldiers, but we will clear that path for you, Seeker. I will see to it personally."

It seemed that Cassandra hadn't expected him to concede so quickly. The rigid expression on her face softened visibly, and when she spoke up again the tone of her voice was a lot more sympathetic, as if she was trying to mitigate some of the harshness of her previous words.

"We need to get the prisoner to the Temple. It is our only hope," she explained.

Cullen could think of a dozen reason why this was a bad idea. To begin with, the prisoner was also their only suspect for causing this whole mess to begin with. And the assumption that she could do anything to help, even if she wanted to, was entirely based on the theories of an apostate of obscure origins.

Still, hope was in short supply these days, and he was here to lead soldiers into battle, not to tell people why something could not be done.

"You will have your path," he reiterated, his hands clasping the pommel of his sword, when another voice spoke up.

"There are other ways to reach the Temple, through the mountains." The soft voice with the melodious Orlesian accent belonged to Sister Leliana, who now leaned over the map as well, pointing out several landmarks. "I can send in some scouts to see if that route would be an option."

"Do it," Cassandra nodded and then turned to the third woman at the table, Ambassador Josephine Montilyet. "Any news about our prisoner's identity?"

"Nothing yet," Josephine replied, her dulcet Antivan accent making her speech almost cheerful despite the serious tone of voice. "We know that her armor is bearing the crest of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick, but given the current situation it is hard to get through to my contacts. We don't even know if it is her armor to begin with. It may have been stolen."

The Ambassador had been caught a bit out of element when what started as a diplomatic mission suddenly turned into a life-and-death-struggle against a horde of Fade demons, but she was adapting quickly, trying to find allies for the battle and organizing supply lines.

And most importantly, she was the grease in the sometimes dissonant gears of what would have been the new Inquisition. Lacking a clear leader, her colleagues rarely seemed to agree on anything. Cassandra was brash and direct, and while Cullen usually shared her military-minded approach he tended to be a lot more careful and restraint. To Leliana they were both blundering Brontos, as she favored her more subtle and covert - and often quite unscrupulous - ways. So it was often up to Josephine to smoothen things out between them and find a compromise.

Finally, Cassandra turned to Cullen again. "How much time will you need, Commander?"

Cullen studied the maps again. It was not a long distance from the last gate to the temple, but they had no way of knowing how many demons had accumulated there. His soldiers had to give up the immediate vicinity of the temple two days ago already.

"Give us five hours," he finally said. If they hadn't cleared the path by then, they most likely never would. They would run out of soldiers before that.

"Then it is decided," the Seeker replied. "We will prepare the prisoner and leave with her for the temple by noon."

With that the meeting was concluded and Cullen left to gather his troops. When he stepped out of the old Haven village chantry that had become their provisionary headquarters, the clear, icy air of the Frostback Mountains immediately stiffened the skin of his face. But he liked the cold, the freshness of its embrace and even the frosty sting of winter in his lungs when he inhaled. Feeling the dry, chilly breeze on his skin always seemed to help him a bit with his headaches at least, and right now he was starting to develop a pretty nasty one. During the meeting it had started to crawl up its way from his stiff neck into his head, leaving a path of stinging needles, and was now nesting right behind his eyes.

But the pain in his head seemed like a trivial concern now, compared to the giant green whirlwind of havoc that now spread over large parts of the western sky. It was the first thing that caught his gaze once his eyes had adjusted to the brightness of the snow-covered mountains. A massive vortex of twirling Fade energy, roaring in the distance like an angry, faraway monster, spewing out and endless crowd of demons.

And all he could throw at them was a bunch of barely-trained recruits and volunteers, and even the few battle-hardened veterans in their ranks had little to offer against the avalanches of terror and calamity that came pressing down the slopes of the Frostback Mountains.

Cullen drew a deep breath. This was going to end badly, no doubt about it. But he would not go down without a fight, and he would make it a good one.

 

\---

 

"You have done good work here, Knight-Commander."

Of all the things Cullen expected the Seeker to say, this was not it. He honestly wasn't sure what he expected when the Seeker had asked to speak to him and he invited her into the small room that was once Meredith's office. One part of him expected that she would chastise him for failing to protect the people of Kirkwall and the mages in his charge during the uprising. The other part expected her to accuse him of treason for turning against Knight-Commander Meredith and leading the Templars astray.

"Well... thank you," he began slowly, his voice calm and even. "But, please. That is not my title. I am only a Knight-Captain, and I have never been officially promoted to anything else. Kirkwall is still lacking the proper authority to do so, and I am not so sure it would have been warranted anyway."

"That is not what I've been hearing," Seeker Pentaghast continued unfazed. "The people speak highly of you, Knight-Captain. It seems to me that you have been the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall in anything but name only. And more. In the absence of a Viscount you were instrumental in restoring order to the city."

"I really can't take credit for that," Cullen was quick to reply. "The Captain of the Guard is who you should be thanking. And the political business has mostly been taken care of by Seneschal Bran."

The Seeker's eyebrows slowly wandered up her forehead. "You're not very good at accepting praise, are you?"

"I, well..." Cullen cleared his throat. The Seeker was not wrong. He had never been very good at taking compliments, but he was willing to accept them, if he felt they were warranted.

He didn't feel like he deserved this accolade however. Whatever he had done, in the end it was too little, too late. Or maybe it was too much. He couldn't really decide. Too little, because for far too long he had been following Meredith, turning a blind eye to the abuse of the mages in his charge. Too much, because when he finally stood up to the Knight-Commander, it was far too late and all he could do was to raise his sword and help the Champion of Kirkwall killing her. The way he saw it, by turning against Meredith he failed in his duty to serve the Order, and by not stopping her earlier he failed in his duty to protect his charges.

Yet, the Seeker appeared to be serious in her words. She didn't seem like a woman who used words carelessly, or just for the sake of flattery or manipulation. There was an aura of authority and sharpness around her, her dark, astute eyes filled with determination.

"Lady Pentaghast...," Cullen finally continued.

"Please. Cassandra," she interrupted him.

"Lady Cassandra," he began anew, only to fall silent again when he saw her roll her eyes slightly.

"Seeker," he finally offered cautiously, continuing his sentence when he noticed no negative reaction. "I appreciate your words, but I am sure you didn't come all the way here just for that."

"No. I came to Kirkwall in my search for the Champion," Cassandra said.

Cullen looked at her with some surprise. "It has been almost three years since she left the city. Surely you cannot think to still find her here."

"No, but I had hoped to pick up her trail here," the Seeker explained. "I did manage to find one of her previous associates and I have been interrogating him in the old Hawke Estate the last few weeks. A dwarven merchant by the name of Varric Tethras, and he has been quite forthcoming."

"Ah," Cullen nodded slowly. He remembered Varric, mostly from his irritating habit to call him 'Curly' whenever he was unfortunate enough to run into him. "Still, what would you have of me now? I spoke to the Champion on several occasions, but there are people who knew her much better and I'm afraid I cannot tell you where to look for her."

"I know," Cassandra replied with a sigh. "At this point I'm not sure if I will ever find her. But that's not why I asked to speak to you." She paused for a moment, then stood up and nodded towards the door. "Walk with me, Knight-Captain?"

They left the office together and walked in silence for a while until they reached the small garden at the end of the hallway. It was a beautiful autumn evening, still warm as it was common for Kirkwall this time of year, but there was a briskness in the air that signaled the coming of winter. There was no one else in the courtyard and the flower beds enclosing it looked like they had been neglected for a while.

Much of the Gallows looked like that since the uprising, the few mages and templars still living here barely managing to fill the long halls and corridors of the ancient building. But even when the Circle was still around, the Gallows had always felt like a dead place. Meredith had the mages' movements restricted, often they were confined to their quarters, only permitted to visit the libraries and laboratories in small groups.

When Cullen came to Kirkwall almost ten years ago he liked how quiet and solemn the long corridors of the Gallows were in comparison to Kinloch Hold. But sometimes he still remembered how full of life the Circle of Ferelden used to be, back then, before the Blight. He remembered hallways echoing with laughter, whispers and chatter, he remembered passionate arguments about some arcane intricacy in the imposing book-filled halls, he remembered his awe when he first set foot in that ancient tower. But that was a different time, and sometimes it seemed like a different life of a different person, a person that was still happy and hopeful.

Cullen didn't particularly miss the happiness of those days. Happiness was nothing more than an indulgence. In times like these, when the pillars of an order that had governed the world for centuries came tumbling down, it seemed frivolous at best to be concerned with one's own happiness.

He did sometimes bemoan the loss of hope though. Without something to look forward to, it was hard to keep going, day after day. So he had replaced hope by work and duty to occupy his restless mind, and it seemed adequate enough. Over the years he carefully built a fortress around his scorched heart that way. But the walls that were meant to protect whatever shambles were left of it only ended up being a prison, much like the Gallows itself.

As they passed through the courtyard Cullen waited for the Seeker to speak first, still not sure what this was heading towards.

"If I may ask, what is your opinion on the whole Mage-Templar war?" she finally asked.

"It's a big mess," Cullen replied. "First the mage rebellion, now Templars breaking away from the Chantry... in the end this will be bad for both sides, not to mention the innocent people caught in the middle."

"I have heard that you used to hold some pretty strong opinions about magic," Cassandra continued.

Cullen glanced at her and suddenly he had the weird feeling that he was being tested. But why and for what? "You haven't heard wrong. I have experienced the dangers of uncontrolled magic," he answered truthfully. "But I know now that Meredith's harsh methods weren't the answer. All they did was cause more pain, more hatred and more resentment."

The Seeker nodded, as if this was the answer she expected all along. "I understand that you still command a sizeable group of Templars. Some Templars still loyal to the Divine even joined you after Lord-Seeker Lucius declared the Nevarran Accord null and void. And some mages that don't want to get caught up in the fighting returned to the city to seek your protection. That's quite an achievement, considering the terrible reputation the Circle of Kirkwall used to have."

"We are trying our best to undo some of the mistakes of the past," Cullen was choosing his words carefully, still on guard until he knew what the Seeker was getting at.

They sat down on a small bench at the far side of the garden, the rays of the evening sun just barely making it over the walls of the Gallows into the small courtyard, drowning the place and the sandstone bricks in warm, golden light. Sometimes Cullen was surprised how a place that had seen so much blood could be so beautiful sometimes.

"There will be a Conclave," Cassandra said after a moment of silence. "Divine Justinia was able to convince both the leaders of the Templars and the mage rebellion to come together for peace talks at the Temple of Sacred Ashes."

"That is good news," Cullen answered with genuine surprise. "Do you think this has a chance to succeed?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "There is much bad blood between the two sides. The Divine is aware that this endeavor could just as easily fail, and she has a contingency plan for that." Cassandra paused for a moment before she continued to speak with renewed severity. "The Divine has given me the authority to declare a new Inquisition if the peace talks fail. It will then be up to us to restore order, by any means possible."

Cullen drew a deep breath. He knew his history, and he was aware of the implications of what the Seeker had just said. An Inquisition, that seemed like something from a long-forgotten time, something you only read about in books. An abstract, mythical entity from legends of old, not something that would exist in the mundane thing that was their reality.

"That is a very bold move, and I hope you will succeed if such actions become necessary," Cullen replied. "But forgive me, Seeker, I am still not sure why you are telling me all of this."

"We are currently building the organization that would become the Inquisition, if the necessity arises. And if not, we will be helping the Divine to enforce the results of the peace talks. That is why I came here. I was hoping to recruit the Champion for our cause. I may not have found her, but I may have found something else," she explained and looked at him with intense, grey eyes.

It took Cullen a moment to realize what she was implying. "Are you saying you want to recruit me?" he asked slowly.

"We need someone to train and command our armed forces," the Seeker said with a nod.

Cullen blinked at her, startled, almost stunned. "Wouldn't you prefer someone you are more familiar with for a job like that?"

Cassandra sighed, Cullen's politeness beginning to unnerve her visibly.

"No," she answered plainly. "During my search for the Champion I saw what you managed to achieve here, I heard what people say about you. Pulling a whole city back from the brink of destruction, maintaining your authority without abusing it, gaining the respect of Templars and mages alike. That is no small feat, especially in times like these. I think you are the right man for the job."

"And you are not at all worried that you could be accused of favoritism if you put a Templar in charge of your army?" Cullen wondered.

"If you agree to work for us, you would not be a Templar any longer."

Cullen looked at her with furrowed brows.

_Not a Templar any longer._

The words sounded so absurd, so preposterous, that he had to repeat them in his mind. The thought that at some point in his life he could be anything else but a Templar never even occurred to him. Wasn't he bound to the Order, by duty and honor? Wasn't this what he had sworn himself to, for the rest of his life? Yet the woman next to him spoke these word so easily, so offhandedly, that he could almost believe them.

But was this what he really wanted? Being a Templar or a Templar recruit was all he had known for most of his life, and even before that he could not remember a time when he wasn't filled with the childish dream to become one. If he would lay down the armor of the Sword of Mercy, would there be anything left of him at all?

"That... is an interesting proposition, Seeker," Cullen finally said. "Until when will you need my decision?"

"I am here for another two weeks, then I will leave for Ferelden and travel to the Frostback Mountains," Cassandra replied.

"I understand." He glanced up into the sky that was starting to turn purple in the wake of the setting sun. It was still the same sky that he had woken up under this morning, but something felt different. He felt different. He suddenly felt as if he was standing on the threshold of something big, something important. Could just a few words do that? Was this... hope?

_Not a Templar any longer._

Finally he turned back to Cassandra. "You will have my answer by tomorrow."

 

\---

 

The Terror hit his shield with a blood-curling "clang" sound and the force of the impact violently threw him to the ground. He struggled for breath when his back hit the stones of the ancient pathway, the pain nearly paralyzing all of his body. Cullen had just enough presence of mind to roll himself to the side before long spindly claws thrust deep into the ground beside him. With all his effort he pushed himself up and grabbed the sword that had fallen next to him. More kneeling than standing he swung his blade at the creature's scrawny arm, severing it with one mighty blow. The demon jumped up with a clattering sound that made the marrow of Cullen's bones quiver.

The Commander didn't give his foe the time to recuperate. The next strike of his longsword cleaved into its scraggy legs, making it tumble over with an ear-splitting shriek, and finally the silverite blade sundered apart the creature's faceless, malformed head. The Terror sunk to the ground with twitching limbs until it dissolved into a vortex of green Fade energy.

Cullen panted heavily as he rammed the tip of his sword into the ground, using the weapon to push himself up to a standing position again. He looked around, slightly bent over, his hand propped up on his knees, as he was trying to recover his breath. A number of his soldiers were still fighting against the onslaught of demons, but Cullen didn't even know anymore how many of his men had already fallen. He had completely lost track of time as well, but the position of the sun indicated it was nearing noon.

And it had started out so well too. They had managed to clear the path from the last gate up to the Temple much faster than expected and they only suffered a few casualties. But when they were heading back they noticed that a new Fade rift had opened near the gate, directly on the path itself. With no way of closing it there was nothing they could do but to kill wave after wave of the demons that came pouring out of the rift, waiting for Cassandra to arrive with the prisoner. Otherwise the whole area would be swarming with Terrors, Shades and Wraiths in no time, making the way to the Temple completely impassible.

With each new wave his soldier's resolve crumbled a bit, and with each hour of fighting, their losses grew bigger. The relentless battle had taken its toll on Cullen as well. He felt twenty years older and at this point there wasn't a single fiber in his body that didn't ache in some form. His limbs were heavy and craving for rest and his muscles protested at every move he was trying to make.

Yet he knew he had to fight on. He clasped the hilt of his sword and threw himself at a nearby Shade that held one of his men in its grip. He slammed his shield against the creature's brawny torso and the Shade let go of the soldier but now turned its attention to Cullen.

Cullen stumbled a few steps backwards, barely able to keep himself on his feet, and as he looked into the demon's glowing eyes he knew that he would not be able to withstand another attack. His shield bash had caught the Shade's attention, but barely managed to damage it at all. The hand holding his sword was trembling from exhaustion and his left arm was refusing to lift the heavy silverite shield one more time.

'I tried my best', Cullen thought with a grim smile. 'And I didn't go down quietly.' But how fitting that in the end he would fall to a demon of all things. If anything, his life had never lacked in cruel irony.

As the Shade raised its claws to strike him down its movements suddenly began to slacken, as a thin layer of ice rushed over its body. Within seconds it was frozen solid, capturing its motion in a mantle of frost and coldness. And before Cullen could react, the icy statue burst into a thousand pieces with the sound of shattering glass, as if hit hard by a blunt force. The frozen shards clattered to the ground or evaporated into a fine snowy mist.

And as the icy haze settled down, Cullen saw a woman standing over the Shade's frozen remains. She was carrying a sword and shield, but it was not Cassandra, and not one of his soldiers either. The unknown woman had strawberry blonde hair, tied together in a sloppy ponytail, unkempt strands of hair flickering around her face like small flames. Her armor was a patchwork of different pieces, evidently all from different sets and somehow made to work together by a myriad of clasps and buckles. And what immediately caught Cullen's gaze was a prominent scar that ran in a gentle curve over her forehead, cut through her left eyebrow and continued below the eye.

"Commander!"

Cullen turned towards the voice and saw Cassandra dropping down from the destroyed bridge that led back to the old gate. In her company were the dwarf, Varric, brandishing his ridiculously huge crossbow and the elven apostate, Solas, who was undoubtedly the one responsible for the spell that froze the Shade.

So the red-haired woman must be the prisoner, Cullen thought, even though she looked nothing like a prisoner, sword in hand and fiery determination in her gaze. For a moment, their eyes met and she gave him a short, wry smile before readjusting her shield and jumping at the next demon like a whirlwind of destruction.

Cullen forced his tired limbs into action one more time to help his comrades cut down the remaining demons. With their arrival the task didn't seem so impossible anymore.

And if they were right about the prisoner and she could really do something about these rifts, then maybe, maybe, this wasn't going to end badly after all.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically the same Cullen/Inquisitor couple as in my first fic "I'll be fine", a short piece that I wrote for practice. The events of that story won't occur in this one, however I may reuse some dialogue and images, just because I can.
> 
> I hope I managed to portrait Cullen noticeably different in the flashbacks. One thing that struck me about Cullen in DA2 was that he was very cold and detached, but also extremely polite. No-lyrium-Cullen however could get pretty grumpy at times. :)


	2. Too Good to be True

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed my Trevelyan's background slightly from the canon to better accommodate her character. She's still born as a Free Marcher noble and all that, but she wasn't sent to the Conclave by her family.
> 
> This chapter includes a bit of in-game dialogue... there's really only so much you can do with the War Room introduction scene. And having a bit of original dialogue now and then nicely anchors the scenes back into the context of the game, I think.
> 
> Anyway, let the awkwardness begin!

"She says her name is Hjordis Trevelyan, youngest child of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick. I talked to my contacts and her story seems to check out."

Josephine was scribbling busily on her note pad as she was briefing her colleagues. "Apparently she came to the Conclave to guard the envoy sent by Bann Alfstanna Eremon of Waking Sea."

Cullen huffed slightly. "What is the daughter of a Free Marcher noble doing in the service of a Fereldan Bann, as a guard no less?"

"It is a long, complicated story," Josephine sighed. "Let's just say, she and her family aren't on the best of terms."

"At this point, it doesn't really matter who she is," Leliana added. "She was able to close the Breach for now, and she is our only hope to seal it once and for all. The people of Haven are already calling her 'Herald of Andraste'. That is something we can capitalize on."

"Herald of Andraste?" Cullen asked incredulously. "That is a rather bold title to assume, I'd say. The mark on her hand is clearly some form of magic and while it did save us there is absolutely no proof that..."

Leliana raised her eyebrows slightly. "Irrelevant, " she interrupted the Commander. "The people believe she was sent by Andraste, and the Inquisition will need a symbol like her, or we won't be able to survive without Chantry support. So I suggest we will address her as such, regardless of our personal convictions."

"I agree," Josephine chimed in. "While it may not be wise to openly declare her 'Herald of Andraste' at this point, there is certainly no harm in _not_ denying it."

Cullen looked back and forth between Josephine's crafty smile on his left and Leliana's earnest, unreadable face on his right and finally raised his hands in resignation. "Alright, have it your way," he growled. "So has she agreed to work with us then?"

"She has," Josephine confirmed. "Whether out of conviction or because she realizes she has little chance to survive on her own now that the Chantry wants her head remains to be seen. Either way, we should treat her with all courtesy."

Cullen remained suspicious, but it was mainly a bad habit of his, rather than something directed at Lady Trevelyan personally. He couldn't deny that she had been extremely helpful and that a lot of people would be dead if it wasn't for her, himself most likely included. But trust never came easy for him, and in times like these Lady Trevelyan's sudden appearance just seemed to be too good to be true. And if Cullen had learned anything over the years than that if something seemed to good to be true, it most likely _was_ too good to be true. Not for a moment he would believe that the solution to all their problems had simply fallen out of the Fade and landed directly in front of their feet.

The opening of the doors interrupted his thoughts and Cassandra entered the room, accompanied by Lady Trevelyan. She looked barely different from when they met on the mountain path. The hair was slightly less unkempt, but several rebellious strands of her reddish mane had still managed to escape her pony tail. A sash of thick freckles ran from ear to ear over her temples, cheeks and nose and merged into the light bronze of her suntanned skin. The scar over her left eye seemed even more prominent in the flickering shine of the candles.

"You have already met Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition's forces," Cassandra introduced him to Lady Trevelyan. Cullen tried to make an affable face and gave her a slight smile. The last thing he needed now was another lecture from Josephine about how he was always too grumpy in front of their guests, especially noble guests. He never had much patience for nobility, specifically the Orleasian and Free Marcher type of nobility. But he tried to remind himself that Lady Trevelyan had done nothing to deserve his distrust or ill demeanor.

"It was only for a short moment on the battlefield. I am pleased you survived," he said, and it wasn't a lie. Despite his suspicions, he certainly did not want her dead. Lady Trevelyan returned his smile, green eyes gleaming at him slyly.

"That's an impressive bunch of titles," she quipped after everyone was introduced. Her voice was deep and smooth like velvet, firm and steady, and yet filled with a strange warmth that seemed to melt over every word she spoke. And despite her humorous prelude she turned out to be quiet diligent and concentrated as their meeting progressed. On Leliana's suggestion she agreed to travel to the Hinterlands to contact a Chantry Mother by the name of Giselle.

Once the meeting was concluded she immediately began to browse through the maps laid out in front of her to plan her journey to the Hinterlands. Cassandra, Leliana and Josephine left the room to make preparations, but Cullen remained on his place on the opposite side of the table.

"I suppose I should thank you," he said after watching her for a while.

Lady Trevelyan glanced up to him. "What for?" she asked.

"Well.... closing the Breach, for a start," Cullen replied.

"Oh. Yeah." She pushed herself up again and looked at her left hand, waggling her fingers a bit. "I wish I could take credit for that, but it really just was that thing on my hand."

"Does it... hurt?" Cullen asked after a pause. He realized that he wasn't very good at this. But Lady Trevelyan had been very cooperative so far, so the least he could do was try to not be his usual grumpy self. It's not like he didn't know how to be polite, quite the opposite. He always considered himself to be pretty well-mannered. But things haven't been easy since he stopped taking lyrium. Constant headaches and lack of sleep had left him a lot more short-tempered and impatient than he used to be. Or maybe this actually was his true self, and he had just forgotten, with the lyrium dulling his tempers under a thick, blue veil for over a decade.

"Not really. It's... I don't know," Lady Trevelyan answered his question, looking at her hand. "It's not painful. Just... strange? Like something that doesn't belong there but you just can't rub it off?" She shook her head. "Ugh. Words."

Cullen chuckled slightly. "It's alright. I think I understand."

A short silence ensued and Cullen cleared his throat.

"That's not all I wanted to thank you for though," he finally continued. "I don't know how much longer we would have been able to withstand those demons if you and Cassandra hadn't arrived when you did."

"Ah, well..." She rubbed the back of her neck. "Don't thank me for that. It was a kneejerk decision, because I was very annoyed at basically everyone at that moment and I just wanted to take the fastest route possible. And as I understand, Sister Leliana lost several scouts in the mountains because of that decision. It doesn't really seem like something I should be proud of. It was a mistake, really." Suddenly she froze in her movements, her eyes widened visibly and she looked at Cullen with an almost horrified expression in her face. "I mean... I'm not..." she stammered. "I am not trying to imply that I would have preferred you to die instead, Commander. I'm just... well, uh..."

"I know. It must have been a tough call," Cullen tried to calm her. It wasn't his intention to make her feel bad about something, and he thought that it hadn't been fair of Cassandra and Leliana to thrust the burden of that decision on her.

"I fear that this is just the beginning," she sighed as she bent over the maps on the table again.

"I guess you are right. But if you need any help, don't hesitate to ask any of us. That's what we are here for, Herald," Cullen continued. He had to admit that Lady Trevelyan seemed surprisingly agreeable for a noble.

"I...," she glanced up to him. "Thank you. But I wish you wouldn't call me that. I am no herald, least of all the Herald of Andraste. My name is Hjordis. Or Trevelyan, if you must."

Cullen nodded. "Lady Trevelyan, then."

She looked at him for a moment and then suddenly started laughing, leaving him rather confused.

"What?" he asked and it sounded a lot harder than he had intended.

"From your accent I could have sworn that you are Fereldan," she answered with a wry smile.

"I am indeed from Ferelden," he replied, still bewildered and - for some reason unknown even to himself - slightly annoyed at her reaction. "What does that has to do with anything?"

"It is my experience that Fereldans have an affinity for first names," she explained. "Much more so than Orleasians or Antivans or even Free Marchers. I have been living in Ferelden for many years now, and using first names, with or without title, just seems to come natural to most people here. You are using _your_ first name, are you not, Commander Cullen?"

"Well, yes..." he looked at her with brows knitted together, not really knowing what to answer to that. "I suppose I am just used to it that way," he finally said. "But in your case there are certain... circumstances here. So if you would indulge me, Lady Trevelyan."

Cullen was glad that she didn't ask him what these circumstances were. He could hardly explain her that despite all she had done already, he distrusted her simply because she happened to be exactly what they needed, when they needed it. _Too good to be true._ Because if he was honest it sounded like a pretty damn idiotic reason to him as well.

But she just shrugged her shoulders with a stifled sigh and didn't protest any further. Apparently she had decided that it wasn't worth the effort to wrestle over names and titles with him.

Cullen suddenly felt clumsy and stupid and he feared that his attempt at not being grumpy had just failed miserably despite his best efforts. And he thought he had been doing really good at first. But now he couldn't think of a good way to salvage this awkward situation, so he just collected his papers and parchments from the war table. "I shall leave you to it then," he finally said and started to move away from the table.

"Commander," Lady Trevelyan murmured at him with a nod, already occupied with her maps. Cullen gave her one last look before he left the room.

_A noble not acting like a noble? Too good to be true, for sure._

 

\---

 

When Hjordis left the chantry the sun had already set behind the Frostback Mountains and the chilly air of the night made her shudder immediately. She tugged her leather coat a bit closer around her and walked down the snowy path towards the small hut she had been given as accommodation when she noticed Varric standing near a campfire. She was very tired and had intended to fall straight into her bed once she reached the hut, but she felt that she could really need a friendly face right about now, and Varric was by far the friendliest face she met here so far.

When she strolled towards him, he waved at her, his smile as inviting as the warmth of his campfire.

"There you are, Stormy," he greeted her.

"Stormy?" she asked with a frown as she approached the fire.

"Habit of mine. If you haven't noticed, I like to give people nicknames. And you were in dire need of one. Hjordis is just a weird name and sounds far too dwarven to me," Varric explained.

"Well, thanks a lot," Hjordis jibed as she held her hands towards the fire to warm them. "But why 'Stormy'?"

"Hey, don't question the artistic process," Varric chuckled. "I have good reasons for all my nicknames. And you just seem like someone who's particularly... stormy." He paused as he glanced at her with a scrutinizing look. "Not right now though, you look pretty tired. You're alright?"

"I'm just exhausted. Spending a full hour with our illustrious leaders, debating plans and strategies, can do that to you," Hjordis answered with a yawn.

"Tell me about it," Varric said with a sympathetic laugh. "I mean, Ruffles is probably the loveliest person on the planet, but the rest of them can really get on your nerves sometimes. Nightingale is just scary, the Seeker is this irascible storm cloud just waiting to pour down on you, and Curly has been in an abysmal mood ever since we left Kirkwall. I would normally think he's homesick, but he _is_ home, so he really has no excuse. Sure, he's always been a bit of a sourpuss, but now he's an irritable sourpuss. That's not an improvement."

Hjordis looked at the dwarf with a crumpled forehead as she was sorting through all those nicknames. After a few moments her face lit up visibly. "So, 'Ruffles' is the Ambassador, right? That is kind of cute, actually," she mused. "But 'Seeker' and 'Nightingale'? That seems very unimaginative. Everyone calls them that. And why 'Curly'? His hair isn't curly in the slightest."

"Not the one you can _see_ , anyway," Varric shrugged.

Hjordis snorted. "I didn't realize you and the Commander were so intimate," she said with a grin.

"Ah, I'm just speculating, you know," Varric pondered. "I'm a writer after all."

"Planning to write a book on all this?"

"Maybe. You might not want to see your life retold in one of my works though. My books tend to end in tragedy. It just makes for a better story," the dwarf answered with a sigh. "So, how _are_ you holding up in all of this? After all, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over more than one day."

"To be honest, I don't know how to feel about this. But I think I preferred it when people still wanted to kill me. I can deal with people wanting to kill me. I'm actually quite used to it. But I don't know how to handle people wanting to worship me." She stared into the fire for a while, letting the heat of the flame seep through the skin of her face and fill it with a numbing warmth. "I mean, it's nice that I'm now being asked to participate in the planning and get a say in the decisions. Cassandra and the others... they're not so bad, they try to be polite, but I think it's only because they know they need me. I'm a tool they have to use. So... I really just hope that I can seal that Breach for good soon, so I can be on my way again."

"Got someone waiting for you somewhere?" Varric asked.

"No. No one's waiting. I just don't like to stay in one place for long," Hjordis answered with a shrug.

"Like a storm, huh?"

"Well. I get restless," she sighed and looked at him anxiously. "Can we talk about something else please?" Hjordis fidgeted around a bit. She wasn't a prisoner anymore, but she still felt trapped here, bound by a responsibility she had never asked for. And she never liked being bound. And talking about it only made her more aware of the invisible shackles that compelled her to stay here when she rather wanted to be anywhere else.

"Sure, Stormy. What would you like to talk about?" Varric asked with a kind smile.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest and looked at the dwarf with a growing smirk on her face. "Alright, seriously now. Why 'Curly'? Are you going to tell me or not?"

"Nah. Let the man have his secrets," Varric laughed. "If you're so curious, why not ask him yourself? Maybe he'll even tell you, if he is so inclined."

"I doubt it," Hjordis huffed. "I just barely managed to get him to use my last name instead of that awful 'Herald'-title."

"Ah, don't take it personally. He does that with everyone," Varric said dismissively. "I had to threaten him with the prospect of my next book being a bad, smutty romance novel with him as protagonist if he called me 'Serah Tethras' one more time."

Hjordis laughed heartily. "Did it work?"

"You could say that. His reply was..." Varric cleared his throat and put on an excessively grim face, before he continued to speak with a deep, snarling growl. "If you do that, I will have your head, _dwarf_." He grinned at Hjordis, who had burst out into another fit of laughter. "Shame that I have no real talent for smut though, or I might write that book after all. I'm sure there's a market for that," he mused.

"It might also require a lot of speculation about the state of the Commander's not-visible hair, so maybe it's better to keep that book unwritten" Hjordis snickered. It was good that she had decided to come over here instead of going to bed directly. She felt at ease now and would go to sleep with good thoughts, instead of nothing but the prospect of the burden she was going to carry pressing down on her chest.

"I think I should go to rest now," she finally said. "And you should probably too. I am leaving for the Hinterlands tomorrow morning and I heard that you are going to accompany me."

"Sure I will," Varric grinned. "With only Chuckles and the Seeker in your company, who would cheer you up?"

"I am sure you will perform that task admirably," Hjordis nodded.

"I don't even have to try. Just watching me ride one of those blighted Fereldan horses should do the trick," the dwarf sighed with apprehension. "Sleep well, Stormy. And don't let people get to you. You're a fine person and not anyone's tool."

Hjordis looked at him with a warm smile. "Don't worry about me. Once I had a good night's rest and can get out on the road again, I'll be just fine."

"This won't exactly be a walk in the park," Varric pointed out. "I heard the Hinterland's quite a mess at the moment. Templars killing mages, mages killing Templars, bandits killing everyone unfortunate enough to run into them. And then there's the bears. I heard there are a _lot_ of bears, killing stuff."

"As it happens, I'm quite good at killing stuff myself," Hjordis smirked. "Any problem I can solve with my blade is not a real problem in my book." She winked at him as she turned around and made her way towards her hut.

Varric sighed as he watched her walk away. "I fear that sooner or later we will encounter problems that can't be solved by a blade," he muttered to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bad, smutty romance novel with Cullen as protagonist, written by Varric? I'd read that!
> 
> "Hjordis" is an old Norse name meaning "sword goddess". If you wonder how to pronounce it, something like "Yordis" would be close.


	3. A Good Morning

"Good morning, Knight-Captain Cullen."

The sudden appearance of the Tranquil had Cullen startled and he flinched slightly when his words broke the silence of his office. Somehow the Tranquil always managed to slip in and out of places without being noticed and Cullen had been occupied with his thoughts when he came in.

The Tranquil must have noticed his reaction. "I apologize, Knight-Captain Cullen. The door was open," he continued in his even, passionless voice. "I did not mean to startle you."

Cullen pushed himself up from the desk he had been leaning over and drew a deep breath. "It's alright, Aron. I was just lost in thought. What can I do for you?"

It wasn't really a serious question, because Cullen knew exactly why he was here. He always came at this time of day, early in the morning, painstakingly punctual, to distribute the lyrium to the Templars. One flask for exactly one day. It was a bleak ritual that went back to Knight-Commander Meredith and somehow survived until today, even though it had become largely meaningless.

When he was transferred to the Gallows ten years ago Cullen was surprised at the strict rationing of lyrium in the Kirkwall Circle. The handling of lyrium had been far more lax at Kinloch Hold. Templars were normally given enough supply for at least a week, and if they needed more it was usually granted, unless it became a habit. And while it didn't stop a few Templars from buying additional lyrium from smugglers, most of them were able to handle their rations responsibly.

He soon realized why Meredith was watching the distribution of lyrium so closely. At the slightest hint of disobedience the Knight-Commander would curb a Templar's ration as punishment, and it was much more effective if it was impossible to save up any sort of meaningful supply. In theory anyway. In reality, the lyrium smuggling into the Gallows had been rampant. Ironically, Cullen had met a lot more Templars overusing lyrium and taking more than the recommended daily dose in Kirkwall than he had in Ferelden.

Cullen watched the Tranquil as he put the metal lockbox he had been carrying onto the desk. Then he would slowly remove a key from a chain he was wearing around his neck to unlock the box. He took his time. He always did. The same pattern, the exact same movements, day after day after day, like a wind-up toy only capable of that one routine.

As the highest-ranking Templar in Kirkwall, Cullen wasn't even dependant on the Tranquil's daily distribution anymore. He had full access to the Gallows' lyrium supplies and could have taken as much as he wanted, if he felt like it. But nothing could dissuade Aron from his daily ritual.

The Tranquil removed one small bottle from the box and put it on the desk in front of Cullen. Then he took a step back, folded his hands in front of him and waited. Just as he would always do.

"Thank you," Cullen said and what he really meant was 'You can leave now'. But he knew that Aron would not leave, not until he had seen Cullen emptying the bottle in front of him. So the Tranquil just stood there and looked at him with empty, soulless eyes, as if he was staring right through him.

"You should be taking your ration now, Knight-Captain Cullen," Aron finally continued when Cullen had failed to take the flask after a few moments, his hollow voice breaking the silence that had ensued. "Or you might forget it. That would not be advisable."

Cullen sighed as he finally reached for the bottle. He knew it wasn't Aron's fault, the Tranquil couldn't help himself. He just did what he has been doing for years, performing a chore that had been crammed into his head by Meredith long time ago. Visit each Templar in the morning and give them one bottle of lyrium each. Wait and see if they take it. Report back to Meredith with any irregularities, like a Templar refusing to take his dose. It was the height of irony that with the Knight-Commander dead, Aron would now simply deliver his daily report back to Cullen, despite his insistence that he didn't need to hear it.

Cullen downed the content of the flask in one go and then handed over the empty bottle to the Tranquil. Aron examined the vial diligently, making sure it was really empty, before he put it back into his metal box. Finally he locked the box again and put the key back on its chain.

"Good day to you, Knight-Captain Cullen," he said with a slow nod before he turned around and left the office, silent like a ghost.

Meredith's ghost.

It has been almost three years since her death and still her presence seemed to linger in the empty corridors of the Gallows like a menacing mirage, suffocating all noise, all laughter, all liveliness. And sometimes when Aron spoke to him in the morning, it almost seemed as if the husk of his barren voice transformed into the sharp, austere resonance of the Knight-Commander's speech.

_You should be taking your ration now, Knight-Captain Cullen._

_You should be taking it._

Cullen fell back into his chair and closed his eyes for a moment. He tasted the metallic tingling of the lyrium on his tongue, felt the trail of coldness it left on its way down his throat, and finally the short flash of warmth that spread through his body like a comforting embrace of power and safety.

After such a long time of constant lyrium use, this was all the reaction the daily dose would elicit, with his body too used to its effect to allow any of the blissful sensations of the early years. It was no wonder that many Templars succumbed to the temptation of increasing their dose by buying smuggled lyrium in an attempt to recreate that lost feeling. Cullen still remembered what it felt like back then, when the wave of blue energy swept through his body, sharpening his senses, washing away all pain and all doubt. Back then it made him feel euphoric, powerful, whole. Nowadays he only took it to not feel incomplete.

Finally he opened his eyes again and leaned forward over his desk. There was much to be done and he had promised Seeker Pentaghast to meet her this morning to tell her of his decision. They had been talking for a good two hours that evening, after she offered him to work for the Divine in an attempt to bring an end to the Mage-Templar-war. Cullen had a lot of questions about the Divine's plans and what his new position would entail, and the Seeker was more than willing to brief him on all the details.

When he finally went to bed that evening he would lay awake for a long time, thinking about Cassandra's offer. He already knew that he _wanted_ it. But what he _wanted_ to do and what he _should_ do have often been two different things. After being a Templar for so long, could he learn to be anything else? And what about his responsibilities here? Could he just leave them behind in good conscience?

When sleep finally found him hours later, he wasn't closer to answering any of the question that were running rampant in his brain. But the one thing that stuck with him, the bottom line beneath it all and the one answer that always came up for every new question his doubting mind would throw at him, was the realization that _he wanted it._ It was a certainty clearer than anything he had felt in years. He wanted it and for once he would not concede to duty, concern or fear, he would have it.

It took him an hour to finish the paperwork that was part of his daily morning routine. Once he was done with his work he left his office and made his way towards the living quarters. In the hallway he encountered one Templar and one mage, who greeted him with a nod, but other than that the corridors were as empty as they had been for the last three years.

Finally Cullen reached his own quarters and began to look around. The encounter with Aron had reminded him of something, something he would have to take along if he wanted to join Seeker Pentaghast in her journey to the Frostback Mountains. He walked to the chest that contained what little personal possession he had amassed over the years, and at the very bottom of the chest he found what he had been looking for.

A small wooden box lay between a bunch of books, old letters from his family and various equipment, mostly for the maintenance of weapons. He removed the box from the chest, carefully put it down on a table and opened its lid. It contained all the necessary paraphernalia to turn lyrium dust into liquid lyrium for consumption.

He hadn't used it for years, since Templars living in Circles would normally have their lyrium prepared by a Tranquil. Only if they went on a longer journey Templars would bring their lyrium kit with them. In its liquid state, lyrium would quickly lose its potency after more than a week, so it was advisable to create your own draughts from refined lyrium dust after that.

He made sure that all items were still in place and closed the box again. Slowly he ran his fingers over the Sword of Mercy that was engraved in its lid. Seeing the box lying in front of him made him painfully aware of the fact that even if he left the Order now, a part of it would always follow him, no matter where he went.

Would it really be so different? He would still be working for the Chantry, only that now it would be for the Divine directly, and he would still be leashed to the lyrium only the Chantry could provide.

He sat down on a chair and stared at the box for what seemed like an eternity. He was eager to join the Seeker in her cause, but it was with a similar fervor that he had wanted to join the Templars long time ago, until the fervor was turned into compulsion. He always told himself that even after all that had happened, it was his sense of duty and honor that kept him in the Order.

But it was a lie, and he knew it. If it wasn't for the lyrium, he probably would have left long time ago. But then he saw former Templars, expelled from the Order, begging for lyrium on the streets, and he knew that he did not want this to become his fate. But at the same time he realized that nothing would really change for him as long as someone was still holding his lyrium leash.

This time would be different. It had to be. He pushed the box aside a bit and rose up from his chair. It was time to talk to the Seeker again.

 

 

\---

 

 

"There's a shield in your hand! Block with it! If this man were your enemy, you'd be dead!"

The recruit that was the target of the admonition ducked away anxiously. Cullen turned around, trying to hide a smile. He was in a fairly good mood today, but the recruits needed a firm hand and not coddling, so he was more than content to play the strict, bad-tempered Commander for them.

It was a beautiful, clear winter morning. Puffy white clouds were wandering over a radiant blue sky like tussocks of cotton, trying to find their way through the peaks of the mountains and throwing a constantly moving pattern of light and shadow over the landscape. Occasionally they would shed a few dancing flakes, and the fresh snow glittered brilliantly on the slopes and plains.

Even the Breach that was still lingering over the western horizon seemed at peace, now that the Herald had closed it. Only sometimes it would hurl small green lightning of Fade energy across the sky, like a sleeping dragon occasionally twitching its scaly tail.

Cullen had slept more than usual this night and if he had any unpleasant dreams he could not remember them. And apart from a lingering stiffness in his muscles from the fight in the mountains he was feeling quite well. He knew it wouldn't last, the pain of withdrawal had always found him again eventually, but until then he enjoyed this short moment of respite.

Despite the hardships he didn't regret his decision to quit the lyrium, but sometime he wondered if this was still the right time to do it. The explosion at the Conclave and the opening of the Breach had changed everything, and it was more important than ever that he would be at his best. But so far no one had any complaints about his performance, and the Seeker was the only one who even knew about his situation.

As he turned around again to address one of his lieutenants, a familiar, velvety voice spoke up behind him.

"Good morning, Commander."

He turned towards the voice and saw the Herald walking towards him. Her patchwork armor had been replaced and she was now wearing a light metal chainmail tunic underneath a long burgundy leather coat with matching gauntlets and greaves made from bloodstone.

"Good morning, My Lady," Cullen returned her greeting. "I thought you had already left for the Hinterlands."

"The horses are being prepared as we speak," she replied as she walked up beside him. She watched the recruits fighting for a while with arms crossed in front of her.

Cullen felt the need to say something to break the silence, and the only thing that came to his mind was, as usual, something work-related.

"We have received a number of recruits, locals from Haven and some pilgrims," he began to explain. "But it will take a while to turn them into decent soldiers."

"It's alright," Lady Trevelyan replied with a broad smile that caught Cullen slightly off-guard. "I didn't come here for a status report."

Cullen cleared his throat nervously. He didn't even know why he was nervous all of a sudden, and it irked him."Then what can I do for you, Herald?"

"First of all: not call me 'Herald'. We've been there already, remember?" she answered as she unfolded her crossed arms. "And then, well...." She paused for a moment, fidgeting around a bit. "I always like to get a bit of training exercise in the morning. So I was wondering if you would spar with me, Commander."

"You want to fight... with me?" Cullen asked slowly.

"Well...," she glanced at the exercising soldiers around her. "Not to belittle the talent of your recruits, but I'm afraid I am a little bit out of their league."

Cullen looked at her for a moment as a bemused smile began to spread over his face. "So you go all the way to the top and ask the Commander instead?" he asked. "Quite the confidence."

"One of my better qualities, you see," she answered with a grin.

Cullen chuckled slightly. There was something charmingly honest about her brash, outrageous behavior, and he actually found it quite endearing. "Very well," he replied. "Then I suggest we get us some blunted training swords."

"Good call," she nodded as they walked over to an armor stand and replaced their own equipment with simple wooden bucklers and a standard Fereldan longsword. They picked a spot a bit away from the others and both assumed a defensive posture.

"I hope you won't go easy on me just because I have a pretty face, Commander," Lady Trevelyan smirked.

Cullen glanced at her. 'Pretty' was not the word he would have used. That was not to say that she was ugly in any way. But 'pretty' was something that Cullen associated with little girls or gaudy Orlesian ladies in frilly dresses, and Lady Trevelyan was neither. Her face was a pleasant oval with high cheekbones, a strong but not overpowering jaw line and a striking, slightly aquiline nose that seemed just the tiniest bit crooked, as if it had been broken once.

Cullen slowly began to move sideways, keeping his eyes locked on Lady Trevelyan. She was mirroring his movement but not yet attacking. Cullen did no intent to coddle her in this fight, but he still felt that giving her the opportunity of the first strike was the most gentlemanly thing to do.

And finally, after stalking each other for a while, she lunged forward, but was quickly blocked by his shield. Now he turned to attack and she parried his strikes effortlessly several times with her sword. Whatever she may have lacked in raw strengths, she surely made up for with speed.

He lunged at her again with great force, yet again stopped by wood and metal, and it left them locked up, shield against shield, blade against blade, pressing against each other, her faces so close that he could almost feel the warmth of her breath on his skin.

Her eyes were almost right in front of him now, and Cullen noticed that they were not only an unusually vivid green as he previously had thought, but faded into a bright ochre towards the middle, like a golden corona encircling the black pupils.

Suddenly Lady Trevelyan gave way to the pressure of his shield and dove to the side. It was not an unexpected maneuver, as she couldn't possible hope to push back the Commander with mere strength, but it happened so quickly that it caught Cullen off-guard. Carried by the momentum of his own attack he stumbled forward rather ungracefully and immediately felt the hit of the flat side of her blade on his back.

"That's one point for me, Commander," she quipped with a bright smile.

Cullen drew a deep breath once he had recovered and quickly assumed a defensive posture again. Mistakes were made, but he never made the same mistake twice, and now he knew not to underestimate her.

"Not too bad," he said as he was watching her closely over the rim of his shield. "Where did you get your training?"

"I had a bit of formal training, but a lot is self-taught and experience," she replied, following his movements with a concentrated face.

"It seems you have lived an unusual life for a Free Marcher noble," Cullen continued.

"You could say that," she huffed as she lunged forward again, but this time Cullen simply evaded her attack, letting her blade find nothing but empty air.

"Mind telling me about it?"

"There isn't much to say, really," she answered as she turned around to him again. "I just didn't care much for the career choices my family had laid out for me, which basically extended to Templar, Chantry sister or marrying some awful Nevarran aristocrat."

Cullen started another series of attacks. "So you ran away, I take it?"

"Better. I eloped," she smirked as she was parrying his strikes. "With a sailor."

"Oh." Cullen took a few steps backwards, readjusting his shield. "Where is he now?"

"I wouldn't know. Sailing, I suppose," Lady Trevelyan shrugged. "It was never meant to be something permanent, for either of us."

"I see," Cullen replied slowly.

Suddenly the Herald charged at him again with a daring series of strikes. Apparently she thought she could capitalize on what seemed to be a short moment of confusion on his part, but Cullen would have none of it. In her rash, hasty attack she inevitably neglected her own guard, and the Commander was too seasoned a warrior to not notice it.

With an incredibly powerful swing of his blade he ripped the sword out of her hand and sent it flying through the air. He immediately followed up with a forceful bash of his shield against hers, knocking her over to the ground.

Once the Herald had regained her bearing again she was looking up the blade of his sword, pointed directly at her.

"I guess that's one for me, My Lady?" he grinned down at her with a smug, lopsided smile. The Commander couldn't hide the fact that he was a man who simply liked to win, no matter the occasion.

"I guess it is," she muttered, pulling a disgruntled face. Cullen sheathed his sword and offered her his hand instead, and she took it to pull herself up again.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

"Only my pride," she answered as her displeased face gave way to a wry smile. Apparently she wasn't one to hold a grudge and not a sour loser either.

They looked at each for a moment and a short silence ensued. Suddenly he realized that he was still holding her hand after pulling her up and he quickly let go of it. He cleared his throat while his eyes were trying to find something unsuspicious to look at, and Lady Trevelyan was fidgeting around a bit while she was attempting to wipe some snow from the back of her coat.

"I, um...," she finally began anxiously. "I should probably go and find the others, I'm sure the horses are ready by now."

"Yes, of course," Cullen replied slowly, glad that the moment of awkwardness was over, but somehow also sad that she was about to leave.

"Thank you for the fight, Commander. It was a lot of fun," Lady Trevelyan said as she picked up her own blade and shield again.

"It's been a pleasure, My Lady," he answered with a graceful nod. "Good luck on your journey."

The Herald turned around to him once more while she was walking away. "I don't need luck," she said with a grin. "I have a sword."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, the last line is totally a nod to Grunt in Mass Effect 3.
> 
> Also, I completely made up the part of liquid lyrium losing its potency after a while. But it would explain why Templars need those lyrium kits in the first place.
> 
> BTW, if you want to know how Hjordis looks like (approximately), this is how she looked like in my game, although for this story I made her hair lighter and longer  
> http://imgur.com/BgC3nsD
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Updates will be a bit slower the next time due to upcoming holidays and other stuff, so please be patient. :)


	4. Smoke and Honey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been rewriting the chapter more often than I should care to admit. Still not entirely happy with it, but I'm afraid it's as good as it gets...

He smelled of smoke and honey.

She had realized it during their training battle, when they were locked together, metal on metal, pushing against each other in the attempt to win the upper hand. At first she had only noticed a slight whiff of grease and turpentine, a smell she quickly identified as some sort of armor polish. But beyond that was a noticeable smoky fragrance, nothing pungent or stinging, but rich and almost aromatic, like a flavor of burning wood and resin.

And somewhere mixed in between that was the faint scent of something that Hjordis could only identify as honey.

At first she thought she must have imagined it during that brief moment in the middle of battle. But then she noticed it again after the fight, when he had pulled her up from the ground, and they were suddenly standing close to each other for a moment that felt a lot longer than it probably was.

Explaining the flavor of smoke was not so difficult. In her imagination she saw the Commander sitting at campfires during his journey to the Frostback Mountains, keeping guard through the night, the bushy fur of his coat soaking up the scent of burning spruce wood.

The fragrance of honey however left her clueless. This discovery was so absurd and unexpected, that Hjordis had to smile every time it popped back into her mind.

"Mind letting us in on the joke?"

Hjordis blinked when Varric's sudden voice interrupted her thoughts. She glanced over to the dwarf riding beside her in a slow gait.

"Pardon me?" she asked confused.

"You've been smiling almost the entire time since we left Haven. Whatever you're thinking about, it must be damn funny," Varric explained.

"Oh, I've just... been wondering about things," she replied slowly.

"So we gathered," Varric quipped back at her.

Hjordis slightly leaned on the withers of her horse as she let her eyes wander over the landscape. They had left the snow behind them and were now slowly descending into an ocean of evergreen trees covering the foothills of the Frostback Mountains. Fog was rolling down the slopes, crawling its way through gently swaying treetops.

"You're a writer, Varric," Hjordis suddenly continued. "So tell me, what are some things that could smell like honey?"

"I don't know, Stormy, " Varric shrugged. "Maybe honey?"

"Ugh," Cassandra huffed from behind them. Obviously the Seeker was not impressed with the dwarf's creative talents. Or his attempt at being funny, as the case may be.

Varric laughed. "Why do you want to know, Stormy?"

"Never mind," Hjordis answered with a chuckle. "It's nothing important." If she was honest, she couldn't even tell herself why this topic occupied her mind that relentlessly

"I hate to cut short this tantalizing discussion," a serene, yet slightly snide voice interrupted them. "But it's slowly getting dark. Maybe we should rest for the night?"

It was Solas, the elven mage, who had been pretty quiet for most of the trip so far. Of her three travel companions, he was the one that Hjordis found the most puzzling. He was helpful and very courteous, but there was an aura of mystery around him that was difficult to grasp.

"Solas is right," Cassandra chimed in. "Let's find a place to set up camp."

There wouldn't be a village or farmstead for another few miles, so they just stopped at the next clearing they could find. Hjordis and Varric started to collect wood for a campfire while the others set up the tents.

The damp wood of the Fereldan forest valiantly tried to resist Hjordis' attempts to light it on fire, but finally a flame sprang up from the twigs and tinder and began to consume the old barks with a crackling hunger, sending a thick, grey smoke skywards.

Hjordis closed her eyes as she let the heat radiating from the fire embrace her chilled limbs. She liked being out here. Here, where the land was wider and the silence quieter, where the skies were darker and the stars were brighter than back home in Ostwick, where the fires of the city would blind you to the lights above.

She soaked up the earthy scent of the burning wood, sweeter to her than any incense in the Chantry. She imagined she was alone. No obligations, no responsibilities, no shackles. Just herself, the fire and a million stars to keep her company.

That was all she had ever wanted. Never be bound to a purpose, never be tied to any person for long. She would take jobs for Banns and Teyrns and Lords to get by, but after a few weeks she would be on her way again.

But somehow she felt it would be different this time. That this wasn't just another job that would be over in a few weeks, and the thought frightened her. And then there was this man that smelled of smoke and honey, aloof and awkward, that kept worming his way into her thoughts since they left Haven.

"Stormy?"

She opened her eyes again and looked at the dwarf, who was handing her some bread and dried fruit.

"Thank you," she said with a weak smile.

"So about that honey question..." Varric began as he sat down next to her.

"Ah, forget about it," she replied while gazing at the stars above. "It was just a stupid, unimportant thing."

 

\---

 

It was not a long way from the Gallows to Hightown, where the old Hawke Estate was situated. Cullen used the time to rehearse in his head what he wanted to say to Seeker Pentaghast. He always used to rehearse important speeches, and it almost never helped.

When he stood in front of the heavy wooden door of the Hawke estate he drew a deep breath before he knocked. A man in a soldier's uniform opened and Cullen gave him a nod.

"Knight-Captain Cullen. I am here to speak Seeker Pentaghast," he said.

The soldier took a step back and saluted. "We have been expecting you, Knight-Captain. Please come in."

Cullen entered the foyer of the building and looked around. He had never actually been in here, not when the Hawkes still lived in this house, and not after they left the city either. When Hawke left Kirkwall, it was in a hurry, but her servants took care of the estate for a while until they left as well. Dust had settled on tables and bookshelves, while chairs and recliners had been covered with blankets and were now lining the walls like a formless white landscape. It was a depressing atmosphere. The old walls that must have seen much joy and sorrow were now nothing more than a husk for forgotten memories, captured in fading paintings looking down on Cullen as he moved through the foyer.

The next room, some sort of parlor, looked slightly more inviting. Some of the furniture had been uncovered and a burning fireplace was bathing the room in warm light. Cassandra was sitting on a small desk at the far side of the room and rose to greet him when he entered.

"I'm glad you could make it, Knight-Captain. Please, have a seat," she welcomed him. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you," Cullen replied as he sat down.

Cassandra took a seat opposite to him. "I assume you have come to a decision?"

"I have," Cullen cleared his throat before he continued to speak. "I would be honored to accept your offer and serve as commander of your forces."

The Seeker looked at him and for the first time since they met something like a slight smile unfurled on her stern face. "I am pleased to hear that," she replied. "As mentioned before, I will leave for Ferelden in two weeks. Any business you need to take care of here should be done until then."

"I understand," Cullen replied. "I will make sure everything is done by then. Also, there may be others in the Gallows that would be interested in joining you. I could ask around, if you would allow it."

"Certainly," Cassandra nodded. "Just be careful what information you divulge. Declaring an Inquisition is only the contingency plan, and until the contingency becomes reality, that name is best kept secret."

"Of course," Cullen said before he fell silent again. Now came the difficult part. The part that he had been rehearsing, because he wasn't sure how the Seeker would react to it.

"There is one more thing I would like to discuss," he began carefully. "It's about the lyrium."

"There is no need to worry," the Seeker said when Cullen paused for a moment. "Since we are sanctioned by the Divine we will have access to all the Chantry's legitimate supply lines. You and any other Templar that decides to join us will have no trouble to get enough lyrium."

"That is... good to know," Cullen replied slowly. "But not what I wanted to talk about."

"Oh?"

Cullen felt his throat knot together. Surely the Seeker would think him crazy. Maybe she would even rescind her offer. That thought worried him so much, that he almost didn't want to go through with it anymore.

But if he would do this, it would have to be different this time.

He took a deep breath before he continued to speak. "If I'm not going to be a Templar any longer, then I won't need any more lyrium. At least I assume you didn't approach me for the job because I can cleanse hostile spells or perform a Holy Smite on someone. So... I would like to stop taking it."

And so the words were out in the room, and Cullen was actually quite satisfied with how they had come out. He had sounded determined and serious, not nervous and fumbling as he feared he would. Now he waited for the Seeker's reaction, as his hands slowly tightened around his kneecaps.

Cassandra looked at him and lifted her eyebrows, but her face was as unreadable as before.

"That is quite a bold plan, Knight-Captain," she said. "Surely I don't need to tell you that..."

"...that no one ever has done this successfully, that people either die from it or go insane?" he interrupted her. "Yes, I am aware of that."

"And you still think you can do it? Why do you think it will be different from those that tried before?" she asked. The question wasn't meant to dissuade him, she sounded genuinely interested in his answer.

"Because I _want_ to stop taking it," Cullen replied, firmly looking into the Seeker's grey eyes. "All documented cases of lyrium withdrawal that I am familiar with are people that had to forgo the lyrium due to external circumstances. As punishment, or because they were captured by enemies, or cut-off from supplies for other reasons. I _want_ to stop taking it, because I no longer want to serve out of compulsion, only out of conviction."

The Seeker leaned back in her chair, pondering, while she was scrutinizing him with a curious look on her face. It took a few moments before she spoke up again and for Cullen it was like an agonizing eternity.

"Very well," she finally said. "If this is your decision, I will support it."

Cullen looked back at her, slightly stunned. Somehow he hadn't expected her to agree to his outlandish request, or only after a long, painful discussion. He had about a dozen of rehearsed arguments lined up that suddenly all began to crumple together in his head, leaving him in a momentary state of confusion.

"I... you... you agree?" he finally managed to ask.

The Seeker nodded. "I think it is a laudable goal and I am willing to help you in your efforts. Because I can assure you it is not going to be easy."

"I know," Cullen said as the weight of uncertainty began to fall off of him. "And I don't expect to be coddled. If this undertaking makes me unfit to do my job, I will have to ask you to replace me again."

Cassandra made a dismissive hand gesture. "We will see to that when and if the time comes. For now I would suggest you keep taking your lyrium until we have reached Ferelden. You wouldn't want to have the first symptoms of withdrawal while traveling. Once we have reached Haven you will have a few weeks to adjust to the new situation. The Conclave isn't for another four months, and the army you are supposed to train still needs to be recruited anyway."

"I understand," Cullen said. "Thank you, Seeker. It means a lot to me that you will support me in this"

Cassandra answered with a graceful nod and a rare, sympathetic smile, before she got up and offered him her hand.

"Then let me, in the name of the Divine, welcome you into our service, Commander Cullen."

 _Commander Cullen_. It had a nice ring to it. Even though he was technically still a Knight-Captain of the Templar Order, hearing the new title almost felt like he had already shed his old rank, a rank that had become nothing more than a shell, trapping him inside. And it felt good to be out of that shell.

But Cullen wasn't naive. He knew that nothing had been achieved so far and that a difficult time was ahead of him. But on his way back to the Gallows his mind was bustling with thoughts and plans for the next days and weeks, like a desert blooming up after a downpour.

He felt as if he had finally woken up after a long sleep. And he wondered, when it had happened that he had become to apathetic, so indifferent to the world? How long would he have stayed like that if the Seeker hadn't arrived with her offer?

After he reached the Gallows he went straight back to his quarters. It would still be a while until their departure for Ferelden, but he was eager to start some preparations. He walked over to the chest with his belongings, still open from earlier that morning. He would have to leave behind most of the things inside. But he always liked to travel light, and there wasn't much he wanted to bring along anyway.

It bothered him slightly that he would have to take his lyrium kit with him after all. But the Seeker was right, he shouldn't try to quit while still traveling.

He kneeled down in front of the chest and began to sort through his few possessions. First he browsed through the books and eventually picked one, just in case he got too bored during the journey. The rest could be given to the Circle's library. Finding someone to take his weaponry and equipment wouldn't be too difficult either.

And then there were the letters from his family. All their love and care and worries bundled together in a stack of battered parchments, some already brittle with age, the oldest ones going back to a time when he was still a Templar recruit. After a short pause he began to browse through them. He saw the neat, fluid handwriting of his mother, the accurate, blocky script of his father. But the majority of the letters where from his sister Mia, and it was with some shame that Cullen had to admit that most of them had gone unanswered. He had tried, at times, but all too often it had ended with him staring at the empty paper, not knowing what to tell them.

Now he had something to tell them, and he decided that he would finally send them a letter before leaving for Ferelden.

As he was skimming through the pages, bits and pieces of the writing caught his eye.

_My little lion._

Cullen winced slightly upon reading the words. He had almost forgotten that his mother used to call him that when he was a kid, and the memory of it filled him with a weird mixture of embarrassment and endearment.

She liked to call him that because he was quite a wild and adventurous child, and of course because of his long, blonde mane. He used to wear his hair longer back then, as it is not uncommon for Fereldan men and boys. Sometimes he would even wear one of the small Fereldan braids, dangling down his cheek, or tucked behind the ear.

The long mane had to go when he joined the Templars. He hated it at first because in its short state his hair had the habit to curl up instantly. The shortened hair was a lot more practical however, so at some point he stopped caring.

He put the letters aside and continued to examine the contents of the chest. There wasn't much else of interest in there, but at the very bottom he found a small oval tin box with a simple floral engraving on it. Cullen couldn't remember where it came from and he frowned slightly while he slowly opened the lid.

The tin was filled to the brim with a grease-like, ochre-colored substance. From the looks of it, it could have been some sort of armor polish, but these normally didn't come in flower-covered containers.

Then he suddenly remembered. It was something that Mia sent him years ago. He grabbed the stack of letters again and looked through the pages until he found what he was looking for.

_Since you have been complaining about the curls that have manifested after you had to cut your hair, I have sent you something with this letter that should remedy it. My best friend Carina swears that it can even tame the most unruly curls and still looks completely natural! It is mostly based on beeswax, but there are other oils and ointments in there to make the hair soft and shiny as well!_

Cullen snorted slightly. Mia always had the tendency to care a bit too much. His "complaint" about the curly hair was most likely wrapped somewhere in a half-sentence he wrote to her, but she picked right up on it and made it her mission to fix the alleged problem.

He moved the tin box up to his nose and immediately smelled a strong fragrance of honey, probably from the beeswax, or some honey-based essence mixed into it. He had never actually used the wax back when he got it, but now curiosity got the better of him.

He slowly moved two fingers through the greasy substance and rubbed it a bit between his thumb and fingertips. It was sticky and yet smooth and looked colorless on his skin. He got up and walked over to a dresser with a water bowl and a small mirror on it.

After a short pause he clumsily began to work chunks of wax into his hair. At first it looked awkward and messy, but when he took his comb and ran it through his blond locks in even strokes, the curly clutter on his head slowly began to fall into place strand by strand.

After a few minutes he inspected the result in the mirror. It looked different and surprisingly pleasant. Cullen would admit to a bit of vanity at times, but usually practical considerations would take precedence, hence he never seriously considered to do anything about his curly hair. But the procedure took only a few moments and didn't seem like too much hassle.

Cullen gave his reflection a weak smile. The whole thing seemed so frivolous and pointless and was nothing that a Templar should indulge in.

But he wasn't a Templar any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is most likely the last of the Kirkwall flashbacks, so I can focus a bit more on progressing the story in the present. 
> 
> But the will be other flashbacks eventually! The "random flashbacks" tag is there for a reason^^
> 
> And so is the "slow burn" tag. I'm afraid these two dorks will need a while to finally get somewhere...


	5. Without You I'm Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guess what, this chapter has even more flashbacks! But this time I worked them in differently as you will see.
> 
> Also, a warning: these flashbacks are set in the Ferelden Circle at the time of Uldred's rebellion, so there will be descriptions of violence and torture. Nothing really graphic, but just so you know.

_They are coming again. There is no escape._

Cullen awoke with a start, gasping for air. As always it took him a few moments to realize where he was, then he bent forward with a groan, clasping his head with both hands, as if trying to rip out the images the nightmare had burned into his mind. A sharp pain was hammering in his temples with the rhythm of his frantic heartbeat.  

He sat hunched over for a while, fingers dug into his hair, listening to his breath, the only thing that seemed real in these hazy twilight moments between dream and reality.

Finally he straightened up again and took a deep breath while he slowly let his hands slide down his face. The grasp of terror was loosening around his chest, the shadows of the nightmare retreated back into the Fade.

He got up from his small field bed and moved over to his washing bowl. A thin layer of ice had formed on the water, reminding Cullen of the coldness around him. The thin canvas of his tent was barely a protection against the harsh Frostback night, and the chilly air felt like a grasp of ice on his naked, sweaty skin.

He broke the ice in the bowl with his elbow and splashed a handful of frosty water into his face. Josephine and Leliana had offered him to stay in the Chantry instead, in the small room they had been sharing together. It would have been warmer, and he would have had a proper bed there, but Cullen had declined the offer. It wouldn't be appropriate, he had told them. What he didn't say was that he didn't like sharing quarters with anyone anyway. What would they think of their Commander if they saw him now, weak and trembling. He hated himself when he was in this state, and he certainly didn't want anyone else to see him like this.

He grabbed a towel and dried the sweat and water from his skin, before beginning to put on his clothes and armor. He knew there was no point in trying to sleep again, so he may as well try to get some work done. The Herald had returned from the Hinterlands a few days ago, and was now set to leave for Val Royeaux in the morning. There would surely be some reports in the War Room that could use his attention.

When he stepped out of the tent he looked up into the night sky. It was still pitch black from horizon to horizon, except for the verdant radiance of the Breach, meaning the sunrise was still several hours away. He walked through the heavy gates into Haven, barely taking notice of the saluting guards.

There was still some activity in the village, especially around the tavern. Muffled music and laughter could be heard through the walls of the inn. Lady Travelyan was probably there now too. Apparently that's where she liked to spend her evenings, drinking with the recruits, telling tall tales of her adventures to the villagers. Cullen had overheard some of his men talking about it: the Herald of Andraste, drinking like a soldier, and allegedly swearing like one as well.

He stopped for a moment, looking towards the tavern, but then turned left and walked straight towards the Chantry. He pushed open the massive gates and walked into the hall, which was pleasantly empty, quiet and dark, only illuminated by a few candles.

Cullen estimated that it was probably two or three hours after midnight, which meant that he had barely slept for three hours. But once a particular relentless nightmare had found him, there was no escape for the rest of the night.

_No... there is no escape. They are coming again._

Cullen stopped and closed his eyes for a moment. Bad dreams had been with him for the last ten years, but since he stopped using lyrium, they have taken on a new, disturbing intensity. And now they would even pursue him after he had awoken. Not quite like hallucinations, but flashes of images, clawing their way into his mind.

And from the vast amount of bad memories to choose from, this particular nightmare had become especially prominent.

_Airik. It's going to be alright, he said. But they were the last two left, and it was increasingly difficult to believe his words. What escape could there be?_

Cullen quickened his pace to reach the War Room. Once he had reached it, he quickly closed the heavy doors behind him, as if it was somehow possible to lock out the images that were haunting him. He leaned against the door and paused for a moment.

_With each year it is harder to remember his face. He was a Knight-Captain and he must have been in his late thirties, but he had preserved himself a warm, youthful charm. He was gregarious, brave and funny, popular with both Templars and mages. People went to him for help and advice, because he would listen to them._

_When his resolve began to falter after weeks of incarceration, Airik would grab him by the shoulders, look him in the eyes, tell him that they just needed to hold on a while longer, and it would be alright. But how much longer? It had been so long already and they were the only ones left. No one was going to come for them._

The War Room was empty and scarcely lit. Cullen pushed himself away from the door and walked over to the huge table, lighting a few more candles on his way. Reports and missives were still spread all over the tabletop from their last meeting. Surely he could catch up on some reading, he only needed to concentrate, needed to banish those unwanted images from his mind.

_They were coming again. There was no plan or pattern to it. Sometimes they wouldn't leave for what felt like days on end, and then sometimes it seemed they had forgotten about them, or had decided to just leave them to starve. But this time it wasn't demons or abominations, but Uldred himself._

_Uldred. Why was he doing this? They would never know. No reason was given, no questions were asked, there was nothing they could offer him. He didn't want anything from them, except to suffer and to die._

Cullen rubbed his temples and tried to focus on the reports in front of him. He recognized Lady Trevelyan's capricious handwriting in many of them. She had quite a nonchalant way of writing reports, and she liked to underline things, sometimes twice or thrice, and the things she underlined made the reports even more erratic.

'Varric needs a smaller horse.' Underlined twice.

'If you gave me fewer requisitions to fulfill, I could get more actual stuff done.' Underlined once.

'The Templars and mages at the Crossroads have gone completely mad.' Underlined thrice.

_Madness. There was nothing but hatred and madness in Uldred's eyes. He liked to taunt the Templars, torment them, break them. And once he had succeeded he would simply kill them, dispose of them like a toy that suddenly had lost its appeal. Airik would stand between them, but Uldred just laughed at him, as he was hurling charges of electricity at them. Somehow Airik managed to throw up a nullifying shield around them, breaking the lightning, swallowing its energy before it reached them._

_But it was a fool's errand. Obviously they hadn't been given any lyrium since it all started. Being without lyrium for so long was much harder for Airik because he was older, his body much more used to the daily dose. And his brave but useless attempt to protect them from Uldred's bolts of lightning only drained whatever lyrium was left in his blood._

Cullen kept glaring at the reports, but the words began to blur before his eyes until he was staring right through them. The pain in his temples had intensified sharply since he woke up and had now overtaken his entire head. The hands with which he grabbed the table for balance were trembling visibly. It had been bad before, but it rarely had been as bad as now.

_When he could no longer sustain his shield, Airik fell to his knees, panting heavily. Uldred laughed at him, more a sneer than a laugh. 'You Templars are so pathetic. Without the lyrium you are nothing. And you are supposed to guard us? Take away the blue stuff and all that's left of you are inferior, pitiful boys in armor. Just puny vermin, easily crushed under the feet of a mage,' he jeered at them. 'Now witness **true**_ _power!' He swirled his hands through the air and sent another massive charge of electricity at Airik and it threw him across the room and against the wall._

_Finally Uldred stopped his attacks, apparently tired of this mundane sort of torture, and instead he reached into his satchel and pulled out two small vials of lyrium. 'This is what you need, right? This is what you want? Why don't you come over here and get it,' he taunted them both. It was a trap. It was obvious. But Airik, hunched over on the floor, couldn't see it anymore. All his widened eyes could see where the small bottles in Uldred's hand, beckoning him._

_Uldred opened one of the flasks and let its content slowly drip to the ground. Drop by drop it splashed on the stones of the floor, bursting into smaller droplets. Each impact felt loud like a thunder in the suffocating silence of the room, sending a shiver through Airiks contorted body. This was the moment when something in him just sundered apart. You could see it in his face: the obsession, the all-consuming hunger that swallowed that warm, charming man with the bright blue eyes. He had been the strongest of them all and he got broken by a few blue droplets shattering on cold slate, as if they were shattering his mind as well._

Cullen pressed his palms to his face, and slowly let his fingers run through his hair. It all could end right now. The pain, the anxiety, the nausea, the visions. This was the hardest part of it all. To know that he could just end it this very moment. And all it would take was one little bottle of blue liquid to make him feel whole again.

_Airik jumped up to reach the lyrium, trying to capture the drops with his hands as they fell. Greedily he licked the liquid from his palms, and then also from the floor when Uldred emptied the rest of the bottle onto the ground with a mocking laugh. Once a proud warrior, the Templar had been reduced to little more than a mindless beast on Uldred's leash._

_'Pathetic,' Uldred sneered again as he took a few steps backward. He had succeeded. And now the toy had lost its appeal. He flung his hands into the air, summoning a ball of fire that engulfed Airik from below. Airik screamed as the flames wilted his skin and his limbs contorted in the heat._

_Finally the screams stopped, leaving the room even quieter than before. Uldred gave the charred, warped body at his feet only a passing glance. Then he looked up again, playing with the remaining bottle in his hand._

_'I still have one for you as well, little boy.'_

Cullen backed away a bit from the table and leaned on the bookshelves behind him. He remained like that for minutes, palms pressed against his eyes, breathing heavily. And finally the pain started to recede again, but it left him dizzy, nauseous and exhausted.

Was this his choice now? To be weak and pitiful, or to be bound and shackled for the rest of his life? At least the images had finally left his mind, only leaving some faint echoes behind.

_Pathetic. Without the lyrium, you are nothing._

 

\---

 

Hjordis stepped out of the tavern, letting the chilly air cool her heated cheeks, reddened by mead and wine. The inn was still bustling with activity and she would have loved to stay a while longer, but there were things that needed to be done before leaving for Val Royeaux.

She wrapped her arms around herself to protect against the cold as she hurried over to the Chantry. It had been a few weeks since everything in her life had suddenly changed, and she had to admit that so far it hadn't been as awful as she feared it would be.

Most of the time she had spent in the Hinterlands. After she found Mother Giselle and convinced her to travel to Haven, she stayed a while longer, driving away rogue Templars and mages from the Crossroads, making sure that the refugees were clothed and fed.

The fighting was right up her alley, but it surprised her to find out that helping the people there filled her with even greater satisfaction. It felt so much more meaningful than most of what she usually did.

She also had started to warm up to her companions. She had already liked Varric well enough, as he was easy to talk to and made her laugh. And as she got to know Cassandra a bit better she realized that under that stern appearance was a woman not unlike herself, a woman that also had struggled against the conventions placed upon her by her noble birth. And Solas turned out to be quite insightful and pleasant to talk to.

Her next mission however made her apprehensive. She wasn't being sent to fight someone, or to help someone. She was supposed to appeal to the Chantry in Val Royeaux, seek their support for the Inquisition. Why anyone thought that this could even be remotely successful was simply beyond her. The Chantry had already denounced her as false herald, and without that title she was nothing but a disgraced noble that made her living as a mercenary in Ferelden. So it was even more important that she would prepare for this mission, she figured, and not waste away the nights at the tavern.

She crossed the Chantry hall in a fast stride and pushed open the doors to the War Room, expecting it to be empty at this hour. But then she came to an abrupt stop when she found Cullen inside.

"Commander!" she blurted out in surprise. "I didn't expect..." She stopped mid-sentence when she noticed that something wasn't right. Cullen was at the far side of the room, leaning against a bookshelf, slightly hunched over and seemingly rubbing his forehead with his hands. Apparently he had not noticed her enter, even though she had not exactly been subtle about it.

Hjordis' brows knitted together as she walked towards him.

"Commander? Are you alright?" she asked carefully. When he still didn't react, she ducked slightly in an attempt to see past his arms into his face and gently laid one hand on his shoulder.

Cullen flinched sharply when her hand made contact and if it wasn't for the shelf behind him he probably would have jumped a meter backwards. He stared at her with widened eyes for a few seconds, before the tension slowly left his body.

"Herald! I didn't notice... Forgive me..." he began to stammer clumsily.

"No, no, it's fine," she interrupted him quickly. "It's me who should apologize. I startled you." She cleared her throat awkwardly and moved a step backwards to give him a bit more space. "Are you... are you alright?" she finally continued, but just one short glance and him told her that he wasn't. His face was pale and clammy, his usually well-organized hair was slightly tousled and Hjordis could have sworn he saw his hands shake a bit before he wrapped them tightly around the pommel of his sword again. "You don't look so well," she added with a worried look on her face.

"I'm fine," he replied calmly. "Just a headache. Nothing you need to concern yourself with."

Hjordis watched him skeptically as he walked past her and back to the War Table. It was an obvious lie, but there wasn't much she could do to make him tell the truth.

"I hope I wasn't disturbing you. I didn't expect anyone to be still awake, not even you," she said.

"I wasn't. I mean, I was." He groaned exasperatedly as he was leaning over the War Table. "Let me try this again," he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck." I wanted to go to sleep, but couldn't so I came here to work a bit. What about you?"

"I thought that maybe I could prepare a bit more for tomorrow's mission," she answered as she walked up beside him. "But honestly, I don't really know what I hoped to do here."

"Are you worried about the mission to Val Royeaux?" he asked.

"You bet I am," she scoffed. "Send me to fight Templars, mages, bandits, bears - all fine. I would even take on a dragon if I must. But speaking to a bunch of clerics that have already decided that I'm some sort of evil heretic and convince them of... I don't even know of what exactly. I'm not really cut out for that." She flicked a finger against one of her reports lying on the table. "As you may have noticed, I am not exactly good with words."

Cullen glanced over to her. "I don't know, Herald," he said. "Maybe if you underline parts of your speech when talking to them it will be more convincing."

Hjordis paused for a moment and slowly turned her face towards him, her forehead crumpled in bewilderment.

"Waaaaait," she drawled as the wrinkles of confusion gradually melted from her face again. "That was a joke, wasn't it? You just tried to make a joke, right?" she asked with growing amusement.

Cullen looked down on the table and chuckled drily. "Not a very good one, I'm afraid."

Hjordis laughed and shook her head. "Well, Commander, I give you points for trying," she quipped. "And I'll even look past the fact that you started to call me 'Herald' again."

A short silence ensued while both of them were aimlessly looking around on the War Table, as if trying to find something to keep the eyes busy. Hjordis picked up the faint fragrance of honey again, less pronounced then last time, but definitely there, so it wasn't just a fluke when she noticed it back then during the training fight.

"I think what I'm trying to say is...," Cullen finally began again. "Maybe it's not so important what you say, but how you say it. I think you can be pretty persuasive."

Hjordis glanced over to him. He returned her look with a slight smile, tired but genuine. Hjordis noticed that she liked it when he smiled. Small wrinkles formed at the edges of his eyes when he did it, which caused an irritating, tingling lightness to unfurl around her heart.

"Other than that I'm afraid I can't help you much either," he continued. "As you have seen, I am even worse with words than you are. But if you need a training exercise in the morning, I could be of service."

"I think I may take you up on that offer," she answered with a grin. "Thank you, Commander." She paused for a moment and then pushed herself up from the table. "Maybe I should go and get some sleep. That will probably help me more than reading some useless reports."

"Yes, maybe that would be for the best," Cullen replied without looking at her.

Hjordis watched him for a moment as he was standing next to her, slightly hunched over and hands propped up on the table. He seemed to be staring at the reports below him, his eyes jaded with something that Hjordis could only identify as exhaustion. He was different today, different from the imposing, slightly short-tempered Commander that would strut up and down between his soldiers, shouting angry commands at his recruits.

Hjordis moved a step closer and cautiously put her hand on his shoulder again. This time he didn't flinch away and only tilted his head slightly towards her. His eyes were hazel or amber or brown, or something in-between, Hjordis hadn't really come to a decisions on that yet. But now they just looked tired and lusterless, and it tore Hjordis up a bit inside to see them like that. "Maybe you should try to get some rest as well," she said. "You really don't look so well."

"I... yes, I will," he replied slowly. "Thank you, He-... Lady Travelyan."

"Hjordis," she corrected him softly.

"Hjordis," he repeated after a pause.

She gave him a rewarding smile, before backing off a bit again. "Well... see you tomorrow then, I guess," she said with a nervous laugh, fidgeting with her hands a bit as she was walking backwards step by step.

"Yes. Tomorrow," he replied lamely and straightened up again, placing his hands on the pommel of his sword. "Sleep well."

For another moment they looked at each other in silence, then she finally turned around and left the room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was difficult to write and I'm glad I was able to end the chapter on a slightly more positive note. 
> 
> Also, there will be most likely a "continuation" of the flashback with Uldred at some point.


End file.
